Sunday, March 31, 2019

Enjoying the Folk(s)

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Enjoying the Folk(s)

The screen door's left ajar,
boots vibrate old wooden boards,
glasses clink upon the bar,
and mandolin's melody is bested
only by banjo player's chords,
(or so his girlfriend declares
over a glass of mountain moonshine).

It's tucked away places like this
where generations of real politics are strummed,
where people nod their heads, understand;
as life is simple and a guitar's persuasion
can be won with a boom chuck
or fancy finger-picking made possible
only by selling one's soul to the devil
(or so I'm told).

Cigarette smoke curls its way to the ceiling
and time nods a sleepy head,
almost as if suspended, in no hurry
to usher in the buttercream light
that'll soon peak its way over the Blue Ridge.

Here is a place with history no textbook contains;
a place with its own oral traditions of war,
civil rights, hardship, love, hope of escape.
Of spirituals offered in fields, boxcars, living rooms,
and here, in the heart of Appalachia,
where community and family are celebrated,
and "popular' has been redefined.

So I relax and listen,
blink smoke out of my eyes, dare to inhale,
a bit, and absorb that which is unfamiliar;
listen to ethnic rhythms, and clink my glass
with that of a newfound friend.

by Margaret Bednar, April 1, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Music with Marian - April She Will Come - Simon and Garfunkel"

Also linked with "NaPoWriMo" - National Poetry Month, a celebration of poetry which takes place each April, was introduced in 1996 and is organized by the Academy of American Poets as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States. 

13 comments:

Marian said...

Yes, yes, I know this place. :) Happy April, Margaret!

Sanaa Rizvi said...

"buttercream light," now that's a gorgeous image!💖 Happy April, Margaret 😊

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Fascinating to me because I don't know this place! Any Australian equivalent would differ in many small details, just because it's a different country. You make it sound cosy, though.

Your link at 'toads' doesn't work, you might like to know – but I thought if I had a look further I'd probably find the poem, and so I did.

Fireblossom said...

Ah, there you are. I want to say it was bluesman Robert Johnson who they say sold his soul in exchange for his distinctive style of playing. I think he would have liked this poem, full of sense of place.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Sounds like a good place to relax and raise a glass! Cheers!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

You have painted it so clearly I can see it. It sounds wonderful!

Linda Lee Lyberg said...

You created such a sense of place here. Lovely!

Kim M. Russell said...

Your poem has transported me to a place I have never been, Margaret, and will never go, except in my imagination. The sounds in the first stanza work well in setting up the scene and created so much atmosphere with the little touches: the cigarette smoke curling its way to the ceiling and the buttercream light. All of that rich history in one place would be fascinating.

tonispencer said...

I know this place and places like it well. I love the tucked away places of the country and of Applachia. Well done in its sense of place.

Susie Clevenger said...

Oh, I know the place.. I've been there. I grew up with the fiddle play of square dances, round tables of story telling and how a summer sunrise could make one feel like a millionaire. Love this learning to know and love the history and presence of where you are.

Jim said...

Sounds like Mrs. Jim's Louisiana country relatives. Most of the men played and instrument, a piano, guitar, and other strings.
This was nice gathering to read about.
..

Priscilla King said...

Synchronicity--I was just (re)reading "Will You Miss Me When I'm Gone" last night. I think I'll be rereading that one for years, just to remember the songs and wallow in the nostalgia.

P.S.: URGGH. Other Blogger bloggers have had this problem today...Please do whatever it takes to lose the Captcha. I'd rather do my own Troll Patrols than subject friends to Captcha garbage!

Margaret said...

I don’t have captcha... do I? I don’t see it